Treasures Of Old
by adarial ciao
Summary: The War ended 7 years ago, and since then, Harry has exiled himself from the Wizarding world. He lives alone in a small flat in muggle London, and slowly, loneliness starts to overcome him. Who will save him from his own stubborn ways? Enjoy!
1. Prologue

Title: Treasures Of Old  
  
By: Adarial Ciao  
  
Summary: The War ended 7 years ago, and since then, Harry has exiled himself from the Wizarding world. He lives alone in a small flat in muggle London, and slowly, loneliness starts to overcome him. But when someone from his past comes back into the picture, his life takes a turn....for the better? Let's hope so!  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. JK Rowling's. All thats mine is the plot (if you could call it that).  
  
Prologue: Side-Stepped From the Public Eye  
  
As I lay on my back, staring unblinkingly at the gray digital number on the green screen of my muggle clock, I pray for sleep. It doesn't come. I am still as awake as ever. The clock tells me that it is 6:00 a.m. Scracth that- 6:01. It's bad enough laying in bed night after night with no sleep to rescue my waking conscious, but to lay in bed alone is even worse. The sheets are cold and longing for another body to warm them. To warm me.  
  
I try different things to help me sleep, like exercising before I go to bed, or drinking a glass of warm milk. That's what Aunt Petunia always used to do for Dudley when we were younger and he would wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare (he probably dreamed that the worlds supply of chocolate magically dissapeared).Not that anything ever works.  
  
I'm not entirely sure why I have become such an insomniac. There aren't really any reasons that keep me awake. I hardly ever get nightmares anymore, and if I do...well, lets just say I'm used to it. Absolutely no visions, seeing as how there's no crazed, hypocritical halfblood lunatic bent on world domination to invade my mind anymore. A.k.a, Ding-dong the dumbass is dead. No more Moldie Voldie.  
  
The war came at no specific time, it had simply been brewing since the moment I lived. The tensions increased after my 5th year at Hogwarts. People finally started to believe that Voldemort was back after the episode at the Ministry. Fudge, however, possessed too much pride to ever admit that he was wrong, and continued to malign the Order. Stupid git.   
  
The final battle was a harsh one. The attack came three days before Christmas in my 7th and final year at Hogwarts. The deatheaters figured that they would have a better chance at storming the castle if the students were gone. They really were stupid. They should have known that what with the war and all that more students, almost the entire student population to be precise, would stay at Hogwarts over break. It was simply too dangerous to go home, and parents didn't want to take the risk.   
  
We had gotten word from a few of our spies (and we had a fair number of them, among them Snape, and surprisingly, Draco Malfoy- it just wasn't his style to bow down to anyone) that there was going to be an attack. The news came on the 20th, leaving us only a few days to prepare. Luckily, all of Dumbledore's Army (which had increased immensly when it became school sponsered) had stayed, and since the holidays were always a likely time for attacks, all members of the Order had been on call. By the 21st, the castle was harboring one of the largest magical armies in history. We were ready.  
  
The attack from the deatheaters came swiftly as they entered the grounds just before dawn on the 22nd. The battle itself lasted only a few hours, as many of the deatheaters had been wounded or killed as soon as they entered the Hogwarts gates, thanks to some nasty traps set by the Weasley twins that were developed to detect and destroy any presence of dark magic. From then on the fighting was intense. The deatheaters didn't go straight for the killing curse, they choose to use more brutal, tortorous spells that would wound horriblly and keep you down. Therein was their mistake. They enjoyed the torture too much to pay attention to what was happening around them, making them easy targets for the trained members of DA and the Order.  
  
I fought Voldemort one on one.There was no other way. It took me awhile to find him, trudging through the sea of fallen black cloaks and the many duels that still lingered on. It was noon before our duel began. I knew that I would never be able to bring him down with only my wand. He was too quick to succumb to a simple killing curse, so I had a surprise in store. We dueled, throwing curses left and right. The entire time he kept mocking me, taunting me about my parent's death, trying to send visions to me of my mother as she fought valiantly to save me. At that moment, I couldn't have been more thankful to Snape for those grueling occlumency lessons, even if i did have to see him in his tightie-whities.  
  
When I thought he was weakened enough, I pulled out my surprise: a Muggle handgun. Thanks to my quick Seeker reflexes, and training in the weapon, I fired a shot right for his heart just as realization dawned in his beady red eyes. Just to be safe, I fired another, and then he was down. Of course, he wasn't dead, he was too poweful. No, the gun was merely a distraction. While he lay bleeding, his blood black and tainted, on the ground, trying desperately to heal his wounds with dark magic, I cast it: Avada Kedavra. He fell limp on sight.  
  
That was it. The war was over, the Wizarding world was safe; but at a cost. Ron never walked again after being hit with a dark version of the leg-locking curse. Professor McGonagall, though a wonderful witch, was weakened so much by the battle that she could no longer teach and could barely move out of bed for nearly a year after the battle. Oliver Wood, who fought in the battle despite not being a member of the DA or the Order, suffered such severe burns and lacerations on his left arm after being tortured by Lucius Malfoy (who had escaped Azkaban), that it had to be amputated. He lost his Quidditch career, but thankfully, not his life, like so many others did. Percy Weasley, Dean Thomas, Fudge (it never was decided which side killed the git), and so many other gave thier lives to save the Wizarding world.  
  
That Christmas was a bittersweet one. We were free. Voldemort was gone, and all the deatheaters has been caught, thanks to wards on the school that prevented any of them from leaving, and sent to Azkaban which now was at the hands of huamn gaurds. But still, there was so much death. So many innocent lives gone. Their absence was tangible in the air at the belated Christmas Feast, which was held on New Years Eve. Professor Dumbledore decided to wait until the Hospital Wing was empty(the more serious cases has been sent to St. Mungo's) so that everybody could attend.  
  
The food was wonderful and the hall was beautiful. There was snow falling softly from the ceiling that would dissipate before it reached the tables, and luscious green bows of holly hung everywhere, along with wreaths that smelled wonderfully of Christmas. But still, the chatter throughout the hall was muffled and laughter was tentative and nervous. As much as we wanted to celebrate, we couldn't. Was it right for us to be happy with so many gone? Was it right to laugh at a joke when the chair next to you was empty? Was it right to kiss under the mistletoe when there were so many people that had lost their lovers? We didn't know. So we simply tried to move on, to start our new lives, without the previously ever present threat of a looming Dark Lord.  
  
Slowly removing myself from my memories, I glanced at the clock, and sighed. 7:22 the digital numbers flashed. I might as well get up.  
  
I rose slowly out of bed, exhausted and trapped in a meloncholy mood, and head to the bathroom for my morning shower. This is what happens everytime I think about that day. It's hard to believe that that was seven years ago. Since then many aspects of my life have changed. I moved into muggle London after I graduated. I needed a break from the world where all I was was The Boy Who Lived. Don't get me wrong, magic is still part of my life, but I work and live among muggles. It's easier this way, being able to walk down the street anonomously. I suppose I took the easy way out. Running away from my past, such a cliched thing to do. But I didn't necessarily run, I just...casually sidestepped my way out of the public eye. I haven't truely abandoned my past, like I said, magic is still a part of my life. I still carry my wand with me wherever I go, and I still visit the Weasleys. The Weasleys of course being Ron and Hermione. They got married shortly after we graduated, making Ron one happy man. After he became crippled and had to be assisted constantly but a wheelchair(a device that thoroughly interested Mr. Weasley due to it's muggle origins), he thought no one would want him. He was thrilled when Hermione proposed. She always was one to take charge.  
  
Speaking of Hermione, I just remembered. I'm supposed to have lunch with her today, she wanted to talk to me about something. Her and Ron are doing really well, Herm's even expecting their first child. They are so happy with each other. It makes me laugh thinking about all the years at school when they refused to admit their feeling for each other. Still, as happy as I am for them, I'm a bit envious. Im 24 years old, and I have never had a meaningful relationship. Ever. I've only ever kissed a handful of people, none of which were very pleasurable experiences. It was just too hard to ever get close to anyone at Hogwarts, with the War and all. Then after everything was over, I just couldn't wait to escape, I didn't care abou anything thing esle. Now though, I get so lonely sometimes. Often times, when I lay in bed at night, I think about what it would be like to have someone laying next to me. What it would be like to have someone who loved me...Ugh!   
  
"Stop thinking about this Harry! You'll only dig yourself deeper into your hole of self-pity." Wow, I think I'm even more lonely than I thought. I'm starting to talk to myself.  
  
I got out of the shower, and shivered from the cold. I hope I remembered to ask Mrs. Marlow, my boss at the second-hand bookstore I work at, for an extended lunch hour. I really should get a remembrall. Herm told me that Neville sells many unique ones at his store in Diagon Alley, Forget-Me-Nots.  
  
Looking in the mirror, I almost cringed at my appearence. Stubble covered face, dark hollow eyes, and wet hair fresh from the shower. I look a mess, only not, because I just took a shower. So, I look a clean mess. I really should start getting some sleep, I'm I could get some dreamless sleep draught somehow. Laughing quietly to myself, I imagine the look on Snape's face if the Boy Wonder just suddenly appeared at his doorstep after seven years of self-exile, asking for a dreamless sleep draught. It would be priceless!  
  
Walking back into the bedroom, I dress quickly in a simple dark green t-shirt and old, worn jeans. Searching for my trainers, I realize I'm going to be late for work if I don't leave in the next two minutes. I race around the room, looking for my shoes. Finally finding them I slip them on, tie them quickly, and run out the door of my tiny three-room flat.  
  
It's only once I'm three blocks away from my flat, and dangerously close to being late, that I realize I've forgotten my wand. Well isn't that just dandy?  
  
Running the last block to Marlow's Treasures of Old, the aforementioned second-hand bookstore, I glance at my watch (at least I remembered to put that on).   
  
I'm late.  
  
Great. Just bloody great.  
  
a/n: Okay, well. This is my first fanfic, though I've been obsessed with fanfic for ages! I plan on continuing this, but encouragement from random people who read it would certainly help. ^_~. I know Harry's character is lacking, but this is mainly just an introduction. More characterization in later chapters. Also, this isn't supposed to be some big meaningful story, its just how I see Harry's life after the war. So, enjoy! 


	2. Chapter One

Title: Treasures of Old  
  
By: Adarial Ciao  
  
Summary: The War ended 7 years ago, and since then, Harry has exiled himself from the Wizarding world. He lives alone in a small flat in muggle London, and slowly, loneliness starts to overcome him. But when someone from his past comes back into the picture, his life takes a turn....for the better? Let's hope so!  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Jk's. Plot (ha! plot, thats funny) mine.  
  
A/N: this is actually chapter one, the previous chapter I decided fit better as a prologue, because it gave you a good look at where Harry is in his life.  
  
Chapter One  
  
"You're late boy! That'll be docked from your pay, you know!" Said Mrs.Marlow angrily as Harry stumbled into the store, out of breath in his feeble hurry to get to work on time. It didn't matter to her whether he was two hours late or two minutes. All she cared was that he was late, plain and simple.  
  
"I can't have my employees running a muck, going about on their own time. Marlow's Treasures of Old is a highly respected establishment! I can't have you young hooligans doing whatever you well like! And good God boy! You look like you just crawled out the dumpster out back! How do you think that reflects on me? Huh? You don't think, do you? Well, don't just stand there doing nothing! Go and shelf some books. We just got in a new shipment. I'll be in the back if you need me, which you better not!" And with that final, endearing note, Mrs. Marlow waddled on back to the store room to see to the paperwork, muttering as she went about young people these days.  
  
During her tirade Harry had simply stood there, pretending to pay attention. He was well aqquainted with her dissaproval for tardiness, being late quite often. For some reason though, she never did fire him. He supposed that perhaps the lonely old woman held a softspot for him. After all, he had been the only one to visit her in the hospital a couple of months back when she had broken her hip. He always felt sorry for the woman, as mean as she was. She had no one. No friends or children. Her husband, the Marlow whose namesake the bookstore held, had passed a few years ago, right around when Harry had started working at the small store. From what he remembered, he was a nice old man. Always willing to lend anyone a helping hand, and always up for a joke, good or bad. After he passed, Mrs. Marlow had become very bitter and lonely, and managing the store all by herself wore her down significantly. However, she simply refused to sell it or hire a manager, having a feeling of obligation to keep her husbands dream alive.  
  
Rousing from thoughts of pity for the old woman, Harry set to shelving the new, rather the old, books on all the various shelves that covered the small store from floor to ceiling. It was a quaint old place, if not a bit dusty. Books were everywhere, lining everyshelf to the brim. There were small nooks and crannies throughout the store, holding even more books. When you first entered the store, it was a bit overwhelming. There seemed to be no order whatsoever, but at a closer glance, you realised that there wasn't a book out of place, thanks in large part to Harry himself.  
  
As tedious as this part of the job was, he always did enjoy seeing what new titles the store had aqquired. Reading was his saviour. It was what let him escape his lonely reality. He could go anywhere or be anyone, and he never ceased to enjoy reading what the great minds of the classic age had magicked up. Sometimes though, when the stories got banal, and the characters all seemed the same, he would try his hand at writing pieces of his own creation. He never thought they were very good, and would very quickly dispose of them. Still though, writing seemed to help him almost more than reading, and lately he had found himself with his pen in hand and journal splayed open in his lap more and more.  
  
Once he was finished with his task, he grabbed one of the books that had caught his eye, went behind the counter at the front of the store, and set to reading his new found treasure.  
  
*  
  
Several hours and a handful of customers later, Harry found himself enthralled in his latest find. He was in the middle of a steamy romance seen between the two male protangonists (for some reason gay literature had always interested him greatly), when his wristwatch started beeping, surprising him so much that he nearly fell of his stool. Laughing at his own stupidity, he realised that it was just the alarm he had set to make sure he wasn't late for his lunch with Hermione.  
  
Storing his book for later, he cautiously made his way to the backroom. He peered in the door, and noticed Mrs. Marlow gazing sadly at the portrait of the late Mr.Marlow hanging above the fireplace.   
  
"Ahem..." He coughed lightly, cathing her attention. "Mrs. Marlow?" He inquired nervously.  
  
"Yes boy?", she snapped tartly."What do you want?"  
  
"Well, ma'am, I was just heading out to meet a friend for lunch. She wants to talk to me about something, so I'll be needing a longer lunch hour. Only if that's alright, of course", he finished politely, silently praying that she would consent.  
  
"Well, I suppose you can have an extra 45 minutes, seeing as how you did get those books shelved pretty quickly. But don't be late! Or else-"  
  
"Or else it'll be docked from my paycheck. Yes ma'am, I know. And thank you very much. Trust me, I won't be late", he assured her.  
  
"Alright. Be off with you now. Have fu- I mean...Don't be late!" She quickly tried to cover up the slight slip in her facade. /Wouldn't want to be a happy and agreeable now, would she?/ Harry thought as he exited the store, and started the short walk to the sandwhich shop where he had agreed to meet Hermione.  
  
As he walked down the busy sidewalk, he observed the people around him. This was a habit of his that he had aqquired at Hogwarts during the War. Back then, he had to be wary of his enviroment, so he began studying people, trying to decipher what the smallest movement of the hand or shake of the head meant. Now though, with no need to be so paranoid of those around him, he simply made up stories about people saw on the streets. The woman walking beside him, the one wearing far too much makeup with the bad dye job, he decided was going through a midlife crisis, only she didn't know this. He imagined her trying to be posh and trendy, shopping in all the young stores with the sickly supermodels with only enough muscle in their arms to lift a credit card. He saw her trying to fit into supertight clothes, while being laughed at by said models. He imagined she looked quite the fool, and he couldn't help but smile to himself.  
  
His smile dropped, however, when he saw a couple walking hand in hand in front of him. They were older, probably in their seventies. /They look so happy/ he thought. /They must really love each other. They've probably been together since they were young. I bet it was love at first sight/. He sighed, wishing he had somebody to hold hands with. Harry was quite the hopeless romantic. Many of the books he read contained elaborate plots which always ended with two lovers living happily ever after. Though, as idealistic as his views were on love, he was beginning to doubt if he would ever find it. Not true love at least. He didn't want to date a muggle. No, that would be no good. What if they didn't accept him and his magic? There was no way he would hide it, he was too dependent of his wand. So, dating a muggle was out of the question. The Wizarding world wasn't much better. There, they were intimidated by him. He was the Boy Who Lived, the saviour of the Wizarding world. No one thought they would ever be good enough for him. They couldn't fathom how someone as famous, not to mention good looking, as him could want anyone normal, so no one ever really got to know him. And those who did have the courage to approach him were all stuck up and snobby, the exact opposite of what he wanted.  
  
Wanted as what though, that was the question. A friend? A girlfriend? Or...a boyfriend? The thought had certainly crossed his mind. Afterall, the only people he had ever kissed were females, and those experiences had all been awkward and clumsy and just not very thrilling. And the romances that really entralled him were those about gay males. He had never been really attracted to a man though. Not that he had ever really been attracted to a woman either. Not since Cho in his 5th year at Hogwarts, and that was just some silly little crush. He didn't think it really counted as anything more than that.  
  
As Harry walked down the street questioning his sexuality, he earned odd looks from those around him, as he was so caught up in his thoughts that he would often make faces when he disagreed with himself or smiled at something he thought. He barely even noticed when he neared his destination until he heard someone call his name.  
  
"Harry! Watch out!", yelled Hermione, trying to warn him that he was about to run into a pole.   
  
Too late.  
  
"Ow!", he exclaimed as he collided head-on with a rather large black pole. It didn't really hurt, seeing as how he did this type of thing all the time, but it was bloody humiliating. Unless on a broomstick, Harry was incredibly clumsy. He tried to laugh it off, but his embarrasment still showed bright red on his face as he walked over to Hermione, who was laughing hysterically, giving her a hearty hug.  
  
"Harry! Are you alright?", she bit out through her laughter.  
  
"Hey Herm, I'm fine. But you know, you could stop laughing!" he said, trying to look hurt by her laughter, but failing miserably. He was just too happy seeing her to be upset.  
  
"Oh, I'm so sorry Harry. It's just that well...You looked like you were poll dancing when you ran into that pole!" She said as she continued laughing. A smile quickly spread across Harry's face, and he couldn't help but laugh at the mental image that spurred in his mind.  
  
"And how would you, my dear sweet innocent Hermione, know what a poll dance looked like? Eh?" He joked, then laughed as her face turned red.  
  
"And what if I did? Huh? What then?" She countered, recovering from her embarassment giving him a wicked look and smirking evilly. She vaguely reminded him of someone...  
  
"Too much information Herm! Too much!" he replied, laughing jovially. He loved Hermione. She had always been on of his best friends, and always supported him in whatever he did. And you wouldn't think that such a bookworm would have such a great sense of humor, but she could always make him laugh.   
  
"So, how are you? And how's Ron doing? I haven't talked to him in awhile" he asked her as they made their way to a table inside the shop.   
  
"I'm good. So's Ron. He is so excited about he baby! I swear! It's all he ever talks about. He says that if it--we choose to be surprised and not be told its gender-- doesn't have red hair, he thinks he'll cry. He misses you Harry.You know he can't get around that easily to meet you, not with...well...you know. Why don't you come around for dinner every once in awhile?" she asked, looking at him with a pleading look. Harry knew that because Ron couldn't walk, it was harder for him to get around. And he really did miss his best mate, but...Visiting the Weasleys would mean visiting the Wizarding world, seeing as how their flat wasin Diagon Alley near the twins' shop, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. He could be seen, and he wouldn't be Harry. He'd be Harry Potter, and he just didn't want to deal with that.  
  
"I know Herm, I do. And I do miss him, he's my best mate after all. But every other time I've visited, you know what it's like. They don't know me. They just see the scar, and nothing else."  
  
"I know. I'm sorry I asked, but you do realize that you're going to have to Stop being such a baby about this and come back. You could have such a much better life there Harry! There are so many more opportunities for you. And if only you would give people a chance, you'd see that they aren't all like that. Don't you want something more than just working day after day at the small little used bookstore?" She finished, looking at him with a look that cleary said she knew his answer. She knew he hated it, and that he was lonely. But she also knew that he was terrified at the aspect of having to go back. She had seen what it was like after the war. People fawned over him even more than they had before, treating him like royalty. And he dispised it. Harry just wanted to be normal. That's all he ever wanted, but people just couldn't get past his fame to really get to know him.  
  
" I can't do that. I just can't. I may not be happy with my life, but at least I'm satisfied", he lied, knowing full and well that he wasn't. "You know what it would be like if I ever went back." Harry sighed and slumped down in his seat. It was like this everytime they talked. She might be right, who knows. But still, he didn't know if he could face what awaited him in the life he ran away from.  
  
"So...How are things at the store?" asked Hermione lightly, tactfully changing the subject. /Thank Merlin!/ Harry thought, /I know she's probably right, but.../ his thoughts trailed off, and he answered her question.  
  
"Oh it's fine. I was late again today, as always. I really think old Mrs. Marlow is warming up to me. She even told me to have fun today! Granted, she tried to cover it up, but still, its a definate improvement", Harry said energitically. He was making a conscious effort to make this meeting as enjoyable as possible. Seeing Hermione was one of the highlights of his day, and he wanted to make the most of it, especially after his mediocore morning.  
  
"Well it's about time! I should say, you've been working for that crabby old woman for how many years? Three?" Herm had met Mrs. Marlow once or twice, and she didn't take well to her.   
  
"Oh come on, go easy on her! She's lonely, she can't help it. How would you feel if your love of 46 years died and left you all alone? Besides, I bet underneath that sour exterior she's a regular old granny. You never know", Harry honestly didn't know why he was defending her, not after how she treated him. /I guess I have a softspot too/ he thought to himself.  
  
"I suppose you're right. You hungry? Of course you are! It's your lunch break! Now, lets order" she said brightly. And with that they ordered lunch and chatted, talking about nothing and laughing at everything.  
  
*  
  
"So, Harry...Do you still do contracting on the weekends?" Asked Hermione after they had finished their meal.  
  
"Yeah, a bit here and there on the weekends. Why?" Working at the bookstore during the week was nice, but he needed something else. So, on the weekends he did contracting work. Mainly just installing dry wall or painting flats and the like. Nothing too big, but enough to bring in some extra money. It was nice and relaxing for him, seeing as how he always enjoyed working with his hands. He liked making things, seeing them come together slowly but surely. It was almost like magic.  
  
"Well, you know how I sometimes do a bit of accounting for the friend with the realstate company? Well, he needs somebody to paint some apartments he just bought. Don't worry, its a muggle building, so you wont be found out. What do you say?" Harry considered it. He didn't have anything to do this weekend, but apartments? Sounds like a big job.  
  
"Apartments you say? About how many?", he asked.   
  
"Oh, not too many. It's just a small brownstone. He's actually thinking about using it for personal use."  
  
"Personal use? How in the world do you use a whole apartment builing for personal use?" he asked skeptically.  
  
"Oh, believe me, you can. Well, he can. He's very...over the top. Always has been." She replied smiling, laughing, thinking about her friend. /Eh, might as well. Not like I've got anything better to do/ he thought to himself.  
  
"Well...I guess I'll do it. Just be sure to tell your friend it might take a couple of weekends for me to finish. My main priority is the bookstore you know", he said just as his watch started beeping again. "Shit! Herm, I gotta go! I can't be late or else Marlow'll have my arse", he exclaimed, standing quickly, pulling out a few bills for the tab and throwing them on the table.  
  
"Bye Harry. Be well, okay? I'll talk to you soon." She said hugging him.  
  
"Mmkay, love you Herm!", he said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek then starting off down the street.  
  
"Oh! And Herm," he yelled, suddenly remembering something."Tell that friend of yours to call me so we can set up a time for me to come by and give a bid! Okay?" he yelled to her through the crowd.  
  
"Okay Harry! Sure thing!" Hermione answered, though he was already half way down the street. Paying for her own meal she chuckled at her friend, then stood and went to the curb to get a cab with a mischevious look in her eye.   
  
TBC...  
  
*  
  
a/n: Well, that's it. I think I added at least a bit more substance to Harry. Hope you enjoyed it. You know what I enjoy? Yep, that's it! Reviews! Tell me what you think, I'd really appreciate it. Oh, and just a quick note, the poll dancing comment, that actually happened to me once. I was walking down the street with a group of friends, and bam! I ran into this thick wire coming down from a telephone poll (graceful, aren't I?) and one of my friends started laughing hysterically and said it looked like I was poll dancing. Hehe, such a fond memory. 


	3. Chapter Two

Title: Treasures of Old  
  
By: Adarial Ciao  
  
Summary: The War ended 7 years ago, and since then, Harry has exiled himself from the Wizarding world. He lives alone in a small flat in muggle London, and slowly, loneliness starts to overcome him. But when someone from his past comes back into the picture, his life takes a turn....for the better? Let's hope so!  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Jk's. Plot (ha! plot, thats funny) mine.  
  
Chapter Two  
  
Later that evening, Harry was lounging around his flat. He had tried watching some TV, just flipping through the channels, but became disgusted with what he saw. It was either news reporting the depressing trials of the day or some silly TV show that didn't hold an ounce of intelligence. Now he remembered why he prefered the pages of a book over television.  
  
Abandoning his seat infront of the TV, he wandered about his apartment, looking for something to do. He didn't wander for long, seeing as how there was no where to wander. His flat was rather small, with only three rooms. The first room was a large white room, which served as a living room on one end with a couch, two chairs, and the TV, and a kitchen at the other, with a small bar seperating the two areas.   
  
The next room was his bedroom (also white) which stood at the end of a short hall off of the kitchen. It wasn't dreadfully tiny, but it wasn't that big either. His double bed, which aqquired much of the space, stood in the middle of the wall opposite the door, and was adorned with a large red and gold comforter ( a true Gryffindor isn't he?) and several more matching pillows. At the foot of the bed stood his old Hogwarts trunk, packed full with memorbelia from his school days, including his broomstick(shrunk down to size) and his old robes (now far too small, after Harry had filled out quite nicely, coming to reach the nice height of 6' 1", with broad shoulders and muscled arms from years of Quidditch, and now rolling paint onto tall walls with heavy rollers). His wardrobe stood to the right of his bed, and held all of his wrinkled clothes (he wasn't one to care much about his appearence) and his old Gryffindor quidditch robes, which he kept immaculate and wrinkle free in a muggle dry cleaning bag. On the other side of his bed was one of the only windows in the flat, which held a beautiful and breathtaking view...of the brick building next door. Next to the door was a bookshelf, one of many in the apartment, which was completely full of books which he had brought home over the years, many of them discards from the store that were in too mangled condition to be sold.   
  
The next and last room was Harry's bathroom, which stood opposite the bedroom in the hall. It was surprisingly of a decent size, compared to the rest of the flat. Not too much to say about it, other than it got the job done. The hall was actually lined with bookshelves and looked reminescent of Marlow's Treasures of Old itself. They were positively overflowing with books that Harry had either read, or had taken home and completely forgotten about. One might say this was a waste of space, but Harry loved his books and would never dream of getting rid of them. Hanging above and between the shelves were countless pictures. Many were from his school days, and some were even wizard pictures, that would wave at him when passed. They held the likeness of Ron, Hermione, the entire extended Weasley clan, members of the Order and Dumbledore's Army, Hagrid, his parents, Dumbledore and many many more. It was basically his past, held in store bought frames with dusty glass. His favorite picture was one of an Order party, right before he left. It was one of the wizard pictures, and in it people were chatting amongst themselves and laughing, himself included. The only person in the picture not smiling was hiding in a corner, obviously uncomfortable with his surroundings, trying to cover it up with sophisticated aloofness, though he wasn't wearing scowling or smirking like one would think. In fact, he almost appeared to be enjoying himself just listening to those around him, and if one paid enough attention to him, they might catch him smiling just a little at one of the Weasley twins' jokes or looking at the Boy Wonder with an odd look in his eyes.  
  
After finding an old, abused looking book that he must have forgotten about, Harry settled back down on the couch to read, having found his amusement for the night. He had only made it to the thrid page when his phone rand shrilly. Relcutantly rising, he went to answer it.  
  
"Hello?" he said into the mouthpiece, the earpiece cold against his ear.  
  
"Hello there. I haven't got much time, but is this Harry? Harry Potter?", said a masculine voice impatiently on the other line.  
  
"Er...yes it is. May I ask-", he started, but was quickly cut short.  
  
"Like I said, I don't have much time. I need a painter. Hermione recommended you. Said I should call, so I did. For some bid or something. I want to start as soon as possible, and the only time I've got free this week is Friday at 5:00, that okay with you?", said the mystery person all in a rush.  
  
"Yes, but who-"  
  
"Good then. See you Friday at 5:00. The address is 1287 Hutcherson Rd.",and with that the line went dead.  
  
"Well, it was nice talking to you too, you seem like a wonderful bloke. I can't wait to work for you. Good bye!", Harry answered sarcasticly into the mouthpiece. /How rude!/ he thought. /Then again, he did say he was in a hurry. Who knows. Hopefully he'll be nicer in person. Whoever he is/ and with that thought, Harry went back to his seat on the couch and continued to read late into the night.  
  
*  
  
After an eventless week of many sleepless nights, Friday evening finally rolled around. Harry had been somewhat anxious all week, trying to figure out who the mystery caller was. If it was the person that Herm had told him about, which it obviously was, then he was a wizard. That fact worried Harry greatly. After all he had gone through for 7 years to not be caught, he could jeaopardize his safe life by doing one job. And now that they had already called, they knew how to find him. He mentally beat himself up, he should have thought of all this before he said he'd take the job. But he was just having so much fun with Hermione, he wasn't really thinking. Surely though, Hermione wouldn't do that to him. /Would she?/ No, he decided. She wouldn't put him in that sort of danger, she repsected his decision. /Oh well, too late now. Guess I'll just have to trust her/.  
  
As Harry sat on his stool behind the counter trying in vain to focus on the words in front of him, he continued to ponder the identity of the caller. His voice seemed vaguely familiar. It was smooth, almost pleasant to the ears, and held an elegance that stirred his memory. Perhaps it was someone from Hogwarts, or maybe the Order. He didn't remember any of them ever talking about realstate, or starting their own company though. /Who could it be? I have a feeling I know this bloke.../  
  
Harry glanced at his watch, and saw that it was 4:29. In one minute his handy dandy alarm would go off, and it would be time to leave. /Thank Merlin!/, he thought. He had been so distracted all afternoon that he hadn't read barely any of his book, and he was starting to get nervous. This was going to be his first interaction with anyone from his past in years, aside from Hermione and Ron that is. This was going to be interesting to say the least.  
  
His alarm sounded and he quickly turrned it offf, and went to the back to say good night to Mrs. Marlow. After wishing her a good weekend (his only response was a grunt of acknowledgement), and set off for his apartment at a near run.  
  
Getting home at 4:43, he threw his keys on the bar, and went straight to the bathroom, taking a look in the mirror. He had learned when he first started that it was always a good thing to look good for bids. People trusted you quicker and were more willing to let you have control of their flat or home while they were away if you looked fresh and clean as opposed to how he looked at the moment, which was gritty and worn. His face looked gaunt and slightly pale from lack of sleep, and there were dark bags under his eyes. Not to mention the quickly forming five o'clock shadow. He pulled out his wand and cast a refreshing spell on himself. Now, his face held more color and the bags were gone. His eyes however still looked tired and weary. /Oh well, I look a little bit better. At least my glasses will hide my eyes./ Moving onto his hair, he sighed. It was, as always, messy and tangled, with the fringe covering famous scar. He left his hair as is, knowing that any attempt to tame it would be hopeless. He looked down at his clothes. Wrinkled. Exiting the bathroom, he crossed the hall into his room, looking in his wardbrobe to try and find something acceptable to wear. He finally settled on a pair of nice jeans that actually fit, and a white collared shirt. Nice and professional, but still casual, and not all that wrinkled.   
  
Deeming himself acceptable, he glanced at the clock on his bedside table. 4:56. Grabbing a pad and paper for note, and pulling his wand out of back pocket, he apparated to 1287 Hutcherson Rd.  
  
*  
  
With a soft pop, he was standing in front of a three story brickstone. It was surrounded by other similar building, but this one stood out. It looked quite quaint, with vines growing and crawling up the front. There were several windows, a couple per floor, with white trim and red shutters. A very nice building, he could see why this bloke bought it. Before he could observe much more, he heard another soft pop behind him and then the same voice from the phone calling his name.  
  
"Why, hello there, Potter. Long time no see", and without turning, he recognised the voice immediately. Groaning he turned around slowly.  
  
"Malfoy."  
  
TBC  
  
a/n: muwhahhahah! cliffie! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and thanks to those who have reviewed my story thus far. And Kandice, running into a parked car? Very nice, that takes talent. heh. The next chapter should be up soon. Probably later tonite even. Tootle pip! 


	4. Chapter Three

Title: Treasures of Old  
  
By: Adarial Ciao  
  
Summary: The War ended 7 years ago, and since then, Harry has exiled himself from the Wizarding world. He lives alone in a small flat in muggle London, and slowly, loneliness starts to overcome him. But when someone from his past comes back into the picture, his life takes a turn....for the better? Let's hope so!  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Jk's. Plot (ha! plot, thats funny) mine.  
  
*  
  
Chapter Three  
  
*  
  
"You know, when Hermione told me that you did this sort of thing, I really didn't believe her. But after she had convinced me, I thought this was the perfect opportunity to...catch up, if you will", said Draco smoothly. All Harry could do was stare in shock as Draco Malfoy stood but three feet away from him, a smirk on his pale pink lips.  
  
"Y-y-you! It's you!", Harry stuttered after he had regained control of his senses. Well, most of them anyway. He still lacked coherent thought.  
  
"Yes. Me. Very good Potter" replied Draco, his smirk turning into a smile as he laughed at the flustered Harry. When he had asked Hermione if she had any suggestions for contractors, the last name he had expected to hear coming from her lips was Harry Potter. It had been seven years since the Wizarding world had heard any solid news of him, and as far as anybody knew, he was dead. Learning, however, that he was merely in hiding amongst the muggles, Draco was blown away. He had immediately jumped at the chance to see the Boy Wonder, and now that he was here, standing right in front of him, he could barely believe his eyes. The Boy Who Lived was now a stunning man. He was taller, about the same size as himself, Draco guessed, and he had filled out considerably from their school days. He appeared to be nicely muscled under that plain white shirt and flattering form fitting jeans. His infamous hair was just as messy as he remembered, hiding the lightening bolt scar from view. Though hidden behind those hideous glasses, Draco could see how dull his once brilliant emerald eyes were. And though Draco thought Harry looked incredibly handsome, he had to admit that he looked weak and weary. Hermione was right, he was withering away slowly from his lonliness.  
  
Noticing that Harry was looking at him oddly, he realised that he must have been staring. Well, what did Harry expect? He hadn't seen the boy-scratch that- man in seven years. Some staring was to be expected.  
  
"So, Potter, do you care to elaborate on exactly why you have exiled yourself in the muggle world?", asked Draco to break the slightly uncomfortable silence that had fallen on them.  
  
"Well, Malfoy, that's not exactly something I want to share with you. It's not like you care anyway! Are you really the bloke I'm supposed to be meeting here?", asked an incredulous Harry. He knew he recognised that voice! Never, though, did it cross his mind that it would belong to Draco Malfoy. Like practically the entired magical world, he hadn't seen Draco in seven years, and though they had parted on fairly stable termes (their rivalry had turned into friendly banter once Draco joined the Order) it was almost unnerving to see him here, now, standing before him in a smart black sweater that hugged his lithe frame and simple gray trousers. His hair was slightly longer than it was in their school days, but still gelled back. /I supposed some things never change/ thought Harry. He still had the same smirk, though now it held more mirth rather than malice, and he was as sophisticated as ever.  
  
"Yes. It's me. How have you been these past seven years?", questioned Draco curiously.   
  
"Um. Fine I suppose. And yourself?", Harry replied cautiously. He was perplexed by Draco's behavior, he didn't remember him being so friendly, or so interested in his life. And catch up? Catch up on what? /Sure, we got along better, but that doesn't mean we were necessarily friends/ thought Harry to himself.  
  
"Oh, I'm wonderful. Business is going great, so I decided to get myself a place of my own. Which is why I called you. Now what's this about a bid?", questioned Draco.  
  
"Oh, um. The bid!" Harry had forgotten about the bid, too overcome by this new development."Well, I usually give a bid on jobs before I start. Just to know what I'm in for and to let you know what you're in for. I'll look at what's to be done then give you a price. You can pay then, or later. So, er, I suppose we should go on up and take a look", he finished. He went through this spiel with almost all of his customers, so it was a practically automatic answer.  
  
"Alright, sounds like a plan. This doesn't take too long now, does it? Because I have a dinner meeting at 7:00 sharp. Can't be late, you know", said Draco as they made their way off the sidewalk and into the building.   
  
"Well, if we hurry it wont. And I'm really curious as to how you are going to be using a whole apartment buidling for your personal use", said Harry, emphasising the term. He was just following Draco's lead, and taking it easy, pretending like encountering someone from your past was nothing out of the ordinary.  
  
"Oh, I guess I didn't inform Hermione of this, but this whole place has been renovated.It's really great. The building is three stories all together, and the top floor has been made into one large flat, which I'll be living in as soon as you're done. The second and first floors are still individual flats, just a bit nicer and more modern. I think there are two per floor. Anyway, the second floor will be for my guests--my own little take on guest rooms, if you will. The first will be my personal offices. What do you think? I thought the whole idea was brilliant, myself", said Draco proudly. /Nope, hasn't changed a bit./  
  
"Great I suppose. Functional. Well, if you have to be somewhere, I suppose we better get started", prompted Harry, and with that they went to the first apartment, slowly becoming acclamated to each other.  
  
*  
  
At 6:00, the two exited the building together, feeling much more comfortable than before. They had chatted easily for the duration of the bid, talking about everything from Hogwarts to Draco's relationship with Hermione. /I guess we really did catch up.Heh, imagine that/. Harry learned that Draco and Hermione were actually good friends, and they talked often. She helped do the accounting for Malfoy Inc., his realstate company. Apparently after Lucius died (Ron killed him during the War; it had brought a great feeling of justice to the entire Weasley clan), Draco had been determined to rejuvinate the family business, and restore the Malfoy name. Thus far he had succeeded, and decided that it was time he gave himself 'a little something', as he put it./Herm was right. He is very over the top/ he thought with with amusement.  
  
Harry hadn't shared much. He didn't really know how. He had always had trouble trusting people, and as friendly and easy to talk to as Draco, he couldn't bring himself to confide in someone who he had spent seven years fighting with and another seven hiding from.  
  
Draco's cell phone rang, breaking Harry from his thoughts. He may not have changed physically from their Hogwarts days, but he seemed to be a completely different Draco Malfoy. He was much more muggle friendly, owning many muggle devices, such as a car, cell phone, and a TV (which he claimed to best friends with). He even admitted to being in awe of muggles. He was amazed at how well they had managed to do without magic, himself being very dependent of it. Being friends with Hermione, and even Ron, was remarkable as well. Harry couldn't even count the numerous times that he had called Hermione 'mudblood', or attack at Ron's pride for being poor. Not to mention, Ron had killed his father, and he didn't seem to harbor any hard feelings about it. Harry guessed that they probably were never that close, not like Ron and his father.  
  
Another thing that shocked Harry was how relaxed he was! Harry had always remembered Draco as a graceful, seroius person. But the man he had just spent an hour with was laid-back and mellow, though he still possessed the Malfoy grace. He moved elegantly with cat like strides, and had made Harry feel a bit inadequate with his short clumsy strides and tendancy to run into things. Draco, however, found Harry's ineptness quite amusing. He thought it rather comical and chuckled whenever Harry had tripped over his own feet.  
  
"Hello...Yes it is....Mmhmm...I understand....Of course....perfectly understandable....Right....Okay.....Sounds like a plan...Goodbye, and thank you." Harry loved the sound of Draco's voice. It lulled him into a strange trance, standing there just listening to its smooth tone. He was pulled out of his stupor when Draco closed the flip of his flashy silver phone, and turned to him.  
  
"Well, it appears that my client is unable to make our previous arrangement, meaning I'm free for the night. So, what are you doing this evening?" he asked, looking hopeful at the aspect of spending more time with the handsome man standing next to him.  
  
"Oh, um, tonight. I'm er, doing, um. Nothing?" replied Harry, quite flustered. Draco's question had caught him completely off gaurd. He never did things like going out with friends to bars and the like. The most he did as far as a social life was chatting with Mrs. Marlow after work a bit (though that usually wasn't very pleasant) and meeting Hermione for lunch. So, being asked to do something other than go home and spend Friday night alone reading was quite a shock.  
  
"Good. Because now, you're going out with me!" confirmed Draco brightlym, yet sternly, hinting to Harry that he was not getting out of this. He could tell that he wasn't used to going out from his reaction, but that didn't matter to him. It was about time Harry had some fun. From what Hermione had told him, this would be good for him.  
  
"Oh, okay. Well, I need to stop by my flat then. I don't have any money, and I need to get changed," said Harry. He liked spending time with Draco, what was the harm in going out with him? Besides, Draco hadn't exactly given him a choice.  
  
"Alright, I'll go with you. What's your address?" he said. Draco personally didn't think Harry needed to changed, he had always looked great in whatever he was in, including now, and money was of no issue; he planned on paying for whatever they would do tonight. But he wanted to see where Harry lived, so he consented.  
  
"It's number 6b, Caldwell Avenue. I'll see you there", and with that, Harry apparated away.  
  
"See you there, indeed", said Draco to himself as he followed suit. Yes, tonight was going to be an interesting night. He'd see to that.  
  
*  
  
TBC  
  
*  
  
a/n: Okay, well, sorry to inform anyone who was interested in this story, but I start back to school tomorrow, so updates will be less frequent. The next one, however, when it does come, should be longer than this chapter, and the previous one. So, until then, enjoy! 


	5. Chapter Four

Title: Treasures of Old  
  
By: Adarial Ciao  
  
Summary: The War ended 7 years ago, and since then, Harry has exiled himself from the Wizarding world. He lives alone in a small flat in muggle London, and slowly, loneliness starts to overcome him. But when someone from his past comes back into the picture, his life takes a turn....for the better? Let's hope so!  
  
Disclaimer: Not mine. Jk's. Plot (ha! plot, that's funny) mine.  
  
* Chapter Four *  
  
When Draco arrived at Harry's flat, he was greeted with the sounds of stumbling coming from one of the rooms, which he presumed to be Harry scurrying to get ready for their night out. Taking advantage of him moment of privacy he quickly scanned the apartment. It didn't take that long to take in all the sights. He scoffed at the poorly furnished living room with its quite obviously second-hand furniture, and ratty white walls that hadn't been painted in years. Moving his gaze to the kitchen, he noted that it too was scarcely furnished, with only simple white countertops and only the bare essentials for a working kitchen. He frowned in confusion upon ending his scrutiny of the small space, /Wasn't Potter supposed to have some sort of inherited treasure or something? Why is he living in this hellhole? / He sighed, not eager to see the condition of Harry's bedroom.  
  
He did note, however, and gave Harry credit for the numerous amounts of books that were piled upon each other in the various bookshelves that stood throughout the flat. Some were new, most were used, and they were every he looked. He spotted some of the classics, such as The Taming of the Shrew, which he himself enjoyed immensely, despite it's muggle origins, and some newer, contemporary pieces that he had never even heard of. Draco found it suspicious, however, that among all those books, he saw not one magical title. He made a mental note to question him about that when the chance presented itself.  
  
"Well, um, I'm ready", said Harry tentatively, breaking Draco out of his reverie. He was surprised, and quite pleased at the sight that met him. If he had thought Harry had looked good early, he look downright edible now, dressed in a pair of worn, form-fitting jeans that whispered of a nice physique, and a plain black long sleeved turtleneck sweater, also form fitting, that clearly told of his sculpted torso and impressive arms. The over all outfit was probably years old and all assimilated from thrift stores, but on Harry, it looked absolutely marvelous, and Draco thanked his lucky stars that Malfoys were brutally trained in the art of self-control.  
  
"So, I see you've changed," was all Draco could manage, as he was still busy taking in his fill of the wonderful sight before him.  
  
"Er, yeah. I'm sorry it took so long. I hope I didn't keep you waiting." Harry trailed off, noticing the odd look in Draco's eye that was affecting him in ways he did not want to think about.  
  
"Oh no, it was no trouble at all. The wait was worth it," said Draco approvingly. "So, what do you usually do for fun?" inquired Draco after he had recovered.  
  
"Fun?" asked Harry. How was he supposed to explain to Draco that what he did for fun was sit alone every night in his small apartment and read until it was time to get ready for the next morning? Before he could think of a suitable answer, Draco felt the need to elaborate.  
  
"Yes, Potter, fun. It's what we humans, wizard and muggle alike, do to entertain ourselves when the stupidity of man is no longer enough. You do have fun, don't you?" he asked condescendingly. Surely Harry wasn't as bad as Hermione had said. There was no way all he did to pass his time was sit home and read.  
  
"Well, I usually just sit home and read." Then again, maybe not.  
  
"Well, that's not fun. Not the kind of fun I'm speaking of, in any case. Tonight, my dear Potter, we are going to have some real fun," exclaimed Draco mischievously, throwing an arm leisurely around Harry's shoulders, guiding him to the door.  
  
"Real fun?" nervously asked Harry. He was definitely not liking the playful tone of Draco's voice, or the evil look in his silver eyes.  
  
"Tonight, Harry, we are going to get drunk." Harry didn't even have time to realize that Draco had called him by his first name; he was still too shocked at what Draco had just revealed. Too shocked, even, to make his mouth move and dispel at Draco all of his numerous complaints. All his helpless body could do was be dragged by Draco out the door and down to the bustling city street below.  
  
*  
  
Well, reflected Draco, getting drunk with Harry is decidedly a most pleasurable experience.  
  
After walking around downtown London for a while, searching for a suitable club, they finally found the perfect one. It was full of flashy lights that caused temporary blindness; loud blaring music that deafened anyone within a one hundred yard radius, along with a sea of humping, grinding, rubbing, and sweaty bodies to match; and most importantly, a bar that served any kind of alcoholic drink one could think of. Draco was elated. Harry was terrified.  
  
Completely ignoring Harry's protests and complaints, Draco dragged him to the bar, and ordered them flamboyantly neon colored drinks, that delightfully decreased even the strongest willed person's inhibitions. After only one drink, Harry was considerably less tense, and even started to enjoy himself. After two drinks, Harry was openly laughing at Draco's antics and smiling more than he had in months. After three drinks, Harry was dancing (at Draco's insistence of course).  
  
Draco was incredibly surprised at Harry's rhythm. For someone claiming to never have danced before, he was keeping up with the music almost perfectly, and moving in the moshing pit of bodies with the best of them. And Draco was loving every moment of it.  
  
Nobody seemed to notice the two men dancing together, nor did they seem to care. They were bumping and grinding sensually, learning each other's bodies, melding it with their own, off in a complete and total world of their own.  
  
Harry was letting out all of the tensions that had built up in him over the past seven years. He was letting go completely and freely. He was finally getting the touch he had always yearned for. He was being caressed in places he never had been before, experiencing new feelings that he never even knew existed. He was feeling new sensations that he could never get enough of, like Draco's hot breath on his neck as they moved languidly to a slow song, or his hips against his own as they ground their bodies together, needing more. He was no longer alone, and through his drunken haze, he decided that this was much better that any story he had ever read.  
  
Draco was in heaven. He was finally getting what he had wanted for over seven years. He was finally able to be near Harry, to feel his body against his. He was finally able to run his hands over that perfect body and through that unruly ebony black hair. He was finally feeling Harry's hands on his hips as they moved with the music, the beat pulsing through them, making them one. Everything about this moment was pure joy, and he never wanted it to end. The dreams that had haunted him ever since the Boy Wonder had so abruptly left his world, leaving him to wonder where he was, what he was doing, who he was loving.All of them, every single dream, was coming true tonight.  
  
Dancing through the night, they held each other close like there was no tomorrow, and in their drug-induced world of ecstasy and bliss, there wasn't. A/N: Sorry for any mistakes, I don't have a beta. And I'm sorry it took so long to update, but hey, if it makes up for it in anyway, I really like this chapter, and hope you did too. 


	6. Chapter Five

****

Title: Treasures of Old

By: Adarial Ciao

Summary: The War ended 7 years ago, and since then, Harry has exiled himself from the Wizarding world. He lives alone in a small flat in muggle London, and slowly, loneliness starts to overcome him. But when someone from his past comes back into the picture, his life takes a turn...for the better? Let's hope so!

Disclaimer: Not mine. Jk's. Main idea running throughout this story that resembles a mix between a plot and a mongoose is mine.

*Chapter Five *

It was two in the morning by the time Draco and Harry left the hazy mist and flashing lights of the chaotic nightclub. They apparated directly into Harry's desolate flat, too drunk to even care if any muggles at the club saw them magically disappear into thin air.

The two stood awkwardly in the middle of the silent and sparse room, simply looking at each other. Neither dared to speak or question what had happened between them. It held far too much meaning, too much importance to both of them to be tainted with drunken slips of the tongue and stuttered apologies. No, it was best just to let it be, just like they had let everything else that had happened that day be. They hadn't questioned the odds of two rivals suddenly meeting after two years, or of Draco's meeting being canceled. They hadn't questioned Hermione's involvement or Mrs. Marlow's easy acceptance of Harry leaving work early. They just let it happen and let themselves feel for once. 

Harry didn't know it, but when it came to actually having fun, Draco wasn't much better off than he was. Sure, he had a good life. He was the head of his own lucrative realstate company that practically monopolized the wizarding world and had restored the honor to the Malfoy name, shaping himself into one of the most respected wizards of the day. He had several estates, plus his brand-new venture, that were all magnificently decorated, filled with lush linens and beautifully carved antiques. He had several friends that were all very loyal and enjoyable to be around, including Hermione who had been his best friend ever since their departure from Hogwarts. She was even nice enough to do the accounting for his company.

But that was just the thing. He was always working. Yes, he had numerous friends, but instead of going out with them on the weekend, he was too busy dining his clients and socializing with the more esteemed wizards and witches of the society. He may have made it seem to Harry that he did this sort of thing all the time, but in truth, he could be found dressed in a black tux with matching tie, entertaining the rich heiress of one prominent pure blood family or the other more than he could be found on the dance floor.

Something like tonight was rare for him, made even more so by the fact that he had danced in the arms of Harry Potter, the man who had captured his gaze so many years ago and still frequented his dreams. Now that he found himself standing in front of the intoxicated man, staring into slightly glazed yet still brilliant green eyes, he had to wonder whether everything that had happened tonight—no, everything that had happened today—had really just been another one of his dreams. But the more he contemplated the possibility, the less he wanted to know.

Harry was in much the same boat. He couldn't help but think that this situation was like something out of one of his books. It was too good to be true. He was convinced that soon the page would turn and it 

would all go away, if it had even been there at all.

He glanced around the apartment, sweeping his gaze over his many books, the dingy white walls, the old worn couch, at anything except Draco's piercing steel gaze. He was afraid of what he would do if he looked into those icy orbs that had such an unnerving affect on him. They were able to lull him into doing things he would never do on his own, make him sway from his comfortable routine. It scared him, their ability to make him do new and exciting things. Their ability to make his body move with the music. Their ability to make him feel. To make him live. But, this drunken Harry liked living…

Gathering all his courage, Harry met Draco's gaze and felt himself falling. Falling into something that he couldn't control, something wonderful and thrilling, something erotic and passionate. He began slowly moving forward, being pulled to Draco by that something he couldn't explain. He got closer and closer, deeper and deeper. Draco too began moving forward, inching closer to Harry, wanting nothing more than to kiss the beautiful man in front of him. They were so close that they could feel each other's heated breath on their damp skin, still sweaty from their night in the hot and sweltering club.

According to the faded words on the well-read pages of Harry's beloved books, this was where they were supposed to kiss. But this wasn't a book. This was his otherwise dull life. His boring life. His safe life. _Safe_.

And with that thought, Harry was seemingly shocked out of his drunken haze and thrown roughly into reality. Everything that had happened that night, everything he had done—everything he had done with Draco—it all came back to him. As if stung by some invisible flame, he leaped backwards, startling Draco who seemed to break out of his own trance.

"I...I...Um," Harry stuttered unintelligibly, turning away from Draco as what he was about to do registered in his mind. He sighed, feeling the alcohol practically evaporate from his system as panic and 

fear settled in.

"I can't do this," Harry muttered, ashamed and incredibly lost.

Draco too had come to his senses. He stumbled backwards, looking away. _What am I doing!_ He screamed in his head. This…he couldn't do this. He couldn't kiss Harry. Not now. Not after seven years. It was all too much. Everything…everything he had ever wanted had been bestowed upon him in one night. This couldn't be real. _Nothing is ever as it seems _rang Lucius's voice in his head. _Damnit! _Draco thought, _the bastard's been dead years but he's still the proverbial voice in my head._

"I have to go," was all Draco said in a composed voice that betrayed nothing of the turmoil in his head. He gave a discrete bow to Harry, then apparated back to his own flat.

Harry stood there for some time after, the scene before playing over and over in his head, as if he was stuck on the same sentence. What if he had kissed Draco? What if they had done more? Did he really dance like _that_? Did any of this really happen? 

Completely overwhelmed and confused, Harry shuffled his way to the nearest piece of furniture, which just happened to be his couch, and collapsed, quickly succumbing to a deep and dreamless sleep for the first time in months.

~*~

"Why am I on my couch?" Harry asked himself aloud in a dry voice when he woke the next day, opening his eyes and wincing as they adjusted to the light. He sat up gingerly, finding his body sore and stiff, partially from sleeping on the cough, and partially for a reason he couldn't remember. He looked around for his glasses, then realized that he still had them on. He glanced over to the clock hanging above his TV, then quickly regretted doing so as a stab of pain made itself known in his head. Looking once again at the clock, much slower this time, he gasped when he read the time. 2:30 in the afternoon! _What? _He questioned incredulously in his head_._ Moving to lay back down, he yelped when he felt something poking him in the back. His wand._ What the hell did I do last night? _

He rose from his couch and wandered into the kitchen to fix himself a pot of coffee to cure the pounding headache he now had. Standing over the sink, clutching his head, he tried to figure out what the hell had happened last night.

__

Draco…the bid…the club…drinks… He couldn't remember anymore._ Oh well,_ he sighed. He figured that Draco and he got drunk last night, then Draco was nice enough to bring him back home. 

"Yes, that's a perfectly acceptable explanation," he said to no one in particular, tying to justify the odd circumstances he now found himself in. Yet there was still a nagging voice in the back of his head that wouldn't let him believe that everything was that simple.

After he had his cup of strong black coffee, his head had cleared up enough to realize that he was a wizard and could obviously just cast a spell on himself to be rid of this horrible headache, which he now ascertained must be a hangover. Reaching for his wand, he tried to remember the proper spell.

"Come on…what is it," Harry muttered, trying to think through the heavy fog in his mind. "Oh yeah! _Caputdoleoabsum_!*" and with that simple word he felt a cool surge wash over him, starting at his head then slowly rippling down through the rest of his body, leaving a tingling sensation in it's wake.

Harry sighed, feeling considerably better and decided to take a shower after having figured out that he had already taken out the trash the previous day, and that horrible stench that was invading his senses was indeed himself.

~*~

"And I said to her, yes I said, 'Veronica, _darling_, fuscia just simply isn't your color!' and did she listen to me? Oh no, of course not! It could be dreadfully too much to listen to your own mother, isn't that right Veronica darling?" Veronica simply nodded and looked shyly at Draco as her mother rambled on about how fucsia just wasn't her color.

Draco sighed, counting the numerous ways he could kill himself at the moment. His favorite thus far had been 1) Insert pencils into nostrils, 2) bang head on table. If he deduced correctly, he would die of a bloody and painful frontal lobotomy. 

"Mr. Malfoy, don't you think Veronica looks just adorable in lilac?" asked Mrs. Underwood, her ringing soprano voice shaking Draco out of his devious thoughts.

" Oh yes, of course. She looks absolutely stunning," said Draco in his most charming voice as he eyed said girl with a painfully fake smile. _Well, She is stunning_, he thought_, In the sense that whenever I look at her I feel as though I've been shocked with a neon purple stun gun. _Draco hated these Saturday lunches. Each one played out in much the same manner. Instead of closing a deal like he had hoped, almost every meeting would end in him having to politely turn down dinner dates with the young daughters of his elderly clients. Mrs. Underwood was an incredibly nice old lady, but she was no exception. In fact, she acted as though they weren't here to discuss business. Not the type of business he was interested in anyway. Throughout the duration of the meal all she had done was chatter about her teen-aged daughter Veronica, who just sat there, occasionally glancing at Draco underneath mascaraed eyelashes, before quickly looking away, her cheeks tinted scarlet. 

Draco thought it was funny, all their fruitless matchmaking. _If only they knew, _he chuckled in his head. Yes, if only they knew that the wizarding world's most popular bachelor was indeed gay and pining over said world's lost savior. 

While he sat there, pretending to listen to the kind old Mrs. Underwood twitter on about Veronica this and Veronica that, his mind wandered to the previous night. He had been so close to finally having everything he had dreamed, so why had he panicked like that? Mentally sighing, he wondered if Harry even remembered any of it. He wouldn't be surprised if it was all a blur to him. After all, Harry wasn't used to going out and drinking like they had last night, so Draco assumed that his alcohol tolerance was fairly low. He felt sorry for him; his hangover must have been horrific! Draco himself had suffered quite the headache when he awoke that morning, only to find dressed in the same clothes from the day before, but he was able to cope with the pain better than he suspected Harry had. He simply cast a sobering-spell(which come in handy after galas where red wine is involved), then had gotten ready for today's meeting, where he was now, not paying any attention at all to his client.

"Oh that's a wonderful idea, Veronica darling! Draco, dear, why don't you take Veronica out to dinner tonight, while I talk to my husband about the deal? Hmm, what do you say, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked with hope shining in her eyes. Draco could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Have her daughter marry one of the richest businessmen in the wizarding world, then be ten times richer, and able to socialize with the biggest names of society. He mentally sighed, wondering if these people ever thought about any other than money and fame.

"Oh, I'm so sorry Mrs. Underwood, but I have a previous engagement for tonight that I simply can not cancel. Well, it seems we're all done here. Check!" and with that Draco payed for the outrageously expensive meal and made his way to a back alley to apparate to Hermione and Ron's for said 'previous engagement'.

~*~

"So," Hermione said after seeing Draco in and explaining that Ron was at his parent's house. "How'd it go?" she asked anxiously.

"Fine, I suppose. He gave me a reasonable price and we decided that he would start next weekend," Draco said, leaning back into the couch. He was still a bit sore from last night.

"That's good and all, but what happened later!" she asked like a giggling schoolgirl.

Draco merely raised an eyebrow in response to her bouncy behavior.

"What do you mean, 'later'?" he asked suspiciously.

"You know, _later_. At the club!" she prompted impatiently. Draco sat up straight from his reclining position on the couch.

"How do you know we went out?" he demanded.

"Because I arranged for your meeting to be canceled and I knew you wouldn't pass up an opportunity to spend more time with Harry," she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I should have known," he said, shaking his head in mirth. "Well, later was interesting. We talked. We drank. We danced. We—"

"You _danced_?" Hermione said, shocked that Draco had actually gotten Harry to do such a thing.

"Our dear Harry seems to have a low tolerance for alcohol. It was actually quite an easy task, once he had a few drinks in him. And a delightful one at that," smirked Draco, his eyes dancing as he recalled the feel of Harry's body pressed against his own.

"Why you little devil!" she exclaimed. "I should have known you had a hidden agenda," she said, laughing at Draco.

"I do not have a 'hidden agenda', thank you very much!" huffed Draco, feigning indignation.

"Still suffering from your schoolboy crush, I see," Hermione said in her know-it-all voice. " Really now, I thought you would have gotten over that. It's been seven years, after all."

"I did get over it. It's just that seeing him again—Wait a minute! How did you know?" blurted out a shocked and embarrassed Draco.

"Come now, Draco! It was so obvious, the way you were always looking at Harry. I'm surprised the entire Order didn't know, the way you went on, practically drooling over him!" she joked.

" I didn't drool per say. Just…okay, so I drooled," he admitted, then continued, "but good lord, Herm! Have you looked at him?" Draco asked, getting a lustful look in his eye.

"Not in that way!" she said reproachfully, even though she knew Draco was right. Harry was quite handsome, not that he was even aware of it.

"Well, I have. Quite a bit actually. But, I highly doubt anything will come of it. He's not even gay," Draco said in a disappointed tone.

"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure of that," hinted Hermione in a way that reminded Draco eerily of Professor Trelawny.

"What makes you say that," he asked skeptically.

"Well, for starters the fact that he's always reading gay romances. Then there's always the fact that he hasn't dated since Cho, or even looked at another woman that way," she listed.

"Really?" Draco asked before she could go on. "He hasn't dated anyone since Cho?"

"Well, technically he has. There were a few small affairs here and there, but nothing serious."

"Wow. That's just pathetic," he observed.

"Not really; not when you think about it. It's not as though he's had the easiest past. He's probably afraid of losing another person he loves. And I know Harry's my friend, and I probably shouldn't be saying this, but he's got issues. Big issues," she sighed, shaking her head. _Issues?_ Thought Draco. _Well, he must have some major baggage if he's done this to himself. Living alone for the past seven years? Good lord!_

"Care to elaborate?" he asked cautiously, acknowledging that it was a touchy subject.

"Well…he's terrified of going back. He's convinced that if he comes back, people will only see him as the Boy Who Killed You-Know-Who. I personally think he's being childish about the whole thing, but I guess that after seven years it would be hard to have to start over again. He's gotten himself into a comfortable lifestyle that would be hard to break and I suppose he's just afraid of what would happen," she said, shrugging her shoulders. To Draco, that just seemed stupid. Harry was a wizard. He belonged with his own people. There had to be more to it than what Hermione was telling him. 

"That's not all, is it?" he asked, wanting to know more about this confusing man.

"Well, no not really…" she said apprehensively, hesitant to share something so personal with Draco.

"Come on, Herm, you can trust me," he pleaded on his own behalf.

"I know, Draco, I do…It's just…" Draco could see Hermione wasn't comfortable yielding such private information.

"Don't worry, Herm. You don't have to tell me," he conceded.

"Thank you, Draco. Harry's my friend and I just don't feel right talking about him like this," she tried to explain.

"Really, Herm. It's fine," he reassured her.

"So, did anything else happen last night," she asked, changing the subject. Draco tensed.

"Um…well…" the usually eloquent man bumbled. Unlike Harry, he remembered exactly what had happened.

"Aha! Something _did_ happen! Spill!" she demanded, her eyes lighting up and leaving no room for argument. Draco sighed.

"Well, we got back to his flat really late last night, and we were both drunk, and he just looked so amazing, and I just wanted to kiss him so badly, and then…I dunno, Herm. We got so close, but then he freaked and then I freaked and then I didn't know what the hell to do, so I just left," he finished in an uncharacteristic rush, sagging back into the couch.

"Oh my…" was all she could say. Draco coughed awkwardly, avoiding Hermione's gaze. 

"Draco," she started, " I'm not sure it's wise to start something with him so quickly. This is all very sudden. You're the first wizard he's interacted with, other than Ron and myself, since he left," she warned.

"I know, I know!" he said. He was quite aware that this was all very new for Harry. But he also knew that Harry couldn't keep living like he was. As if reading his thoughts, Hermione said,

"He does need a change though. I just think you should take it slow, you know, so as not to scare him or anything," she with concern.

"Yes, you're right," he agreed. Neither of them spoke for a few minutes, for neither of them really knew what to say. They both cared for Harry. Even Draco, who hadn't been a part of his life for seven years. But, they both thought that Harry was being just plain stubborn. He needed to go back to the wizarding world and have a real life. He needed to see that it wouldn't be as terrible and as horrible as he thought it would be. But neither of them knew how to open his eyes.

"Well," Draco said quietly, breaking the silence. "I best be off, then," he said, rising from the couch.

"It was lovely seeing you again, Draco," said Hermione as she followed him to the door.

"As it was you, Herm. And do tell the Weasel that I said hello," he joked, using Ron's old nickname.

"Of course I will," she laughed, kissing him on the cheek. "Come again soon!"

"I will, worry not," he assured her, returning her kiss. As he made his way into the hall, he felt a small hand on his arm. He turned around, and saw Hermione looking at him with imploring eyes.

"Draco, do be careful, will you?" she pleaded softly. He knew what she was talking about.

"Don't worry, I will be," and with that, he apparated softly into the night.

****

A/n: Aaaaaannnnnd that's all folks. Terribly sorry for the wait. But, here you go. This chapter took forever, but at least it's nice and long. I'm not sure whether or not I like it, actually. Eh, I dunno. You really should thank Gabri (I hope I got that right, I accidentally deleted her e-mail) for this udpate. See people, that's what happens when you actually send me emails, asking me for updates. You get them! Okay, it's 2:21 in the morning. Im out.

*_Caputdoleoabsum_ literally means head suffering gone.


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